Friday afternoon in my world used to feel like a sprint toward a finish line that kept moving. You know the feeling, don’t you? That frantic rush to clear the inbox, the mental tally of everything you didn’t get done, and the lingering shadow of a to-do list that seems to grow eyes and stare at you while you try to sleep. For a long time, I wore my busyness like a badge of honor: a shimmering, exhausting cape that told the world I was "making it happen."
But here’s the truth: you can’t rise if you’re always running.
Transformation isn't built in the hustle; it’s forged in the pause. That’s why, every Friday as the sun begins its slow, golden descent, I practice what I’ve come to call the Sunset Sabbath. It isn’t just a break from work; it’s a spiritual homecoming. It’s the moment I stop being a "producer" and start being a person again. It’s where I reclaim my identity from the clutches of my calendar.
The word "Sabbath" literally means to cease. Not to pause for a second to check your notifications. Not to "rest" while mentally planning Monday’s strategy. It means a full stop.
In our culture, we’ve been conditioned to believe that our worth is tied to our output. We’ve been told that if we aren't constantly grinding, we’re falling behind. But I’ve learned: often the hard way, through seasons of burnout and physical limits: that stillness is not a luxury. It’s a requirement for the soul.
When I light my Friday evening candle, I’m not just setting a mood. I’m signaling to my nervous system that the war is over for the week. I’m telling my heart, "You are safe here. You don’t have to prove anything today." This rooted approach to living is what allows us to navigate the storms of life without being consumed by them.
My Sunset Sabbath always begins with a ritual. I find that without a physical marker, the mental noise of the week just keeps humming. I clear a small space: sometimes just a corner of my desk or a favorite chair near the window: and I reach for my pen.
For me, journaling is the bridge between the chaos of the week and the peace of the weekend. If I’m in a particularly heavy season: the kind where the "storms" feel more like hurricanes: I reach for my Still Rising journal. It was designed specifically for these moments, for women who are navigating life’s most challenging transitions.
I start by "Releasing." I write down every frustration, every unfinished task, and every worry that’s been taking up space in my head. I don’t try to fix them; I just put them on the paper. There is something incredibly empowering about seeing your "monsters" in ink. They look much smaller when they’re trapped between the lines of a page.
As the light shifts from gold to deep amber, I move into "Receiving." This is the part where I stop talking and start listening. I ask myself: Where did I see beauty this week? Where did I feel most like myself?
This isn't about productivity; it's about presence. We spend so much time looking forward or looking back that we miss the "now." The practice of stillness allows the dust to settle so we can see the path ahead with clarity.
If you’re in a season where you’re just starting to rediscover who you are: perhaps after a major life change or a period of feeling "dimmed": the Becoming Light journal is a beautiful companion for this part of the Sabbath. It’s about that gentle rising, that soft unfolding of a new identity that isn't defined by what you do, but by who you are.
Let’s be real: stillness can be terrifying. When we stop moving, the things we’ve been outrunning tend to catch up. The grief, the doubt, the questions about our "authentic identity": they all wait for the quiet.
But here’s the secret I’ve discovered: the things that catch up to you in the silence are the very things that hold the keys to your healing. You can’t rise with intention if you’re carrying a backpack full of unexamined baggage.
I’ve had to learn to sit with my own reflection, wheelchair and all, and realize that my value isn't in how fast I can move or how much I can achieve. My value is inherent. It's rooted in my Zimbabwean British heritage, in the stories of the women who came before me, and in the "limitless becoming" that happens when we give ourselves permission to just be.
You don’t need a fancy altar or a three-hour window to start this. You just need a decision to stop. Here is how I manage my weekly reset, and how you can create your own:
Every time we choose stillness, we are practicing resilience. We are telling the world (and ourselves) that we are not cogs in a machine. We are creators of our own stories.
I’ve seen women come into our community feeling like they were nothing but their "scars": their past mistakes, their traumas, their perceived failures. But as we practice this rhythm of reflection together, I see those perceptions shift.
We don't just "get over" things at Chiedza Innovations; we integrate them. We turn those scars into crowns. We take the ashes of the week and we find the light within them. But that transformation requires the Sabbath. It requires the sunset.
So, as this Friday winds down, I want to invite you into the quiet. Don't wait until you're "caught up" to rest: rest is what gives you the strength to catch up.
If you’re looking for a place to start your journaling journey, or if you need a speaker to bring this message of resilience and intentional rising to your community, explore our resources or get in touch. We’re here to help you write your own story, one Friday sunset at a time.
Take a breath. The sun is setting. It’s time to stop.
With love and light,
Ngonie & the Chiedza Team
